Still Here
by Saengak
Summary: Ao suffers from PTSD after surviving the destruction of the Headquarters.


**Warnings:** PTSD, visual and auditory hallucinations, dissociation, survivor's guilt, self-hatred, mention of suicidal thoughts, destruction of body parts, internalised ableism and lots of Ao torture in general.

**A/N: **Please do note the warnings! Ao has lost his Byakugan, his left arm, and half his left leg. He is having a real tough time in this one. The fic is in third person, with an unreliable narrator. Please forgive me (and let me know) if I have portrayed anything insensitively.

Kussaku, if you don't know him, is another Kiri-nin in the Sensor Division who was working under Ao.

* * *

_"Ao-taichou?"_

_Kussaku's eyes were wet. Ao cursed under his breath and grabbed the terrified young man's hand, tugging him onto feet and toward the pool of water at the centre of Headquarters. He couldn't save the others, but he could save this one._

_"Hold tight," Ao commanded, and Kussaku nodded, trembling. Ao's other hand forming seals rapidly, drawing upon the remains of his chakra reserves. It would be barely enough for the both of them, but there was no time for doubt. The massive energy of the tailed beast ball was drawing closer with each millisecond. Its dull roar threatened to overwhelm his overwrought senses, but Ao gritted his teeth._

_When the water finally turned mirror-like and still, Ao jumped, dragging Kussaku into the teleportation jutsu with him. An incredible force slammed into their backs as they did, a searing heat whipping across his body even as his breath turned into a flurry of bubbles—_

Ao wakes up choking on water that isn't there, his hand dragging along the twisted bedsheets and his leg kicking out. He can't breathe. The desperate, animal instinct to escape imminent destruction leaves no room for air.

His room is dark, like the teleportation jutsu that had folded him through space and time until he'd emerged on some other battlefield, alone and bleeding out in someone else's Suiton. It's a relief when his hand catches the edge of his bed, the icy railing slipping against his sweaty palm. He clutches at it like a lifeline. With a grunt of effort, he hauls himself upright, reaching out to brace himself with his other arm—

There's no other arm.

Ao realises this mid-fall, his unbalanced torso pitching forward over the rail and flipping him over the edge in an instant. Years of training kick in and save him from shattering his hip, but still he slams hard into the ground, bruising his one-leg-and-a-half and twisting his arm.

Ao bites back a cry as he slumps to the linoleum, his head spinning and his throat tight. Pain blazes up the stump of his left leg like the lick of fire, burning hot before settling into his bones as a dull throb. His breath whistles between his gritted teeth, shallow and fast, and he hopes that no-one will come and check on him. He feels stupid enough for forgetting about his missing arm; he doesn't need someone else to sigh at him.

From this humble angle, the hallway's golden light shines brighter than ever from the gap under his door. The light spills into his room, its rays highlighting a slanted rectangle on the floor. This could be the light at the end of the tunnel, Ao thinks fuzzily, but the warm light stops just short of Ao's sprawled figure, as if it shuns him too.

He blinks again, and she's standing before him. Open-toed sandals, bright painted toenails. Her sapphire blue tunic falls to her calves, but her auburn tresses curl just a little longer. The sight makes his heart leap even as his stomach sours with dread.

"Mizukage-sama," he croaks.

She doesn't say anything, but Ao curls up in shame all the same. He can't look her in the eye, for fear of what his mind will show him. The best he can hope for is her pity, but he won't be able to bear it if she reacts with revulsion. It takes far too long for her leave, as she always does. By the time she turns her heel, Ao feels as if his heart has been eaten from the inside out by his own stomach acid.

Untethered by her absence, Ao feels himself drift. Like a leaf in the wind, exhausted and buffeted by the currents of his mind, Ao sinks back into the Headquarters' waters again. The tailed beast ball should have taken him then. The dead are littered about him, yet he is alive.

"Ao-taichou."

He startles, free-falling for a heart-stopping second as the water disappears and his bare foot skids along the floor. He tries to snatch back his missing arm, but the phantom limb is held tight by another ghost. Kussaku's nails dig into his hand and a tremble starts in Ao's chest, like an uneven, skipped heartbeat.

"There's no-one here," Ao whispers to himself in that dark room, forcing himself to look at the empty sleeve where his arm used to be. There's no disembodied hand and no accusatory glare, but it's hard to convince himself of reality when Kussaku's death grip is grinding his bones together.

"You're dead," Ao repeats, trying to calm himself but feeling his heart pound all the harder instead. It's never good when Kussaku visits. Ao turns onto his side, curling up again as if he could hide himself away. He can feel his throat closing, the water gurgling in his ears. There is blood and ash in his mouth, chakra burning in his veins, and Kussaku is tugging at his arm impatiently.

"You should be dead too, taichou. Why did you leave me behind?"

His eyes squeezed shut, blotting out the golden light that seems so distant, now. "Kussaku," Ao choked out. "Please." He would have never pleaded with anyone like this before the war, much less his own subordinates, but there are more parts of himself missing these days than his pride.

"You saved yourself, Ao-dono," accuses another familiar voice, and Ao knows that if he opens his eye he'll see Inoichi's golden hair pooled on the floor.

Another ghost leans over him, planting his hands on either side of Ao's head, and Ao chokes at the stench of burning flesh. "I had a wife and a son waiting for me," Shikaku says, voice rasping horribly.

"I-I'm sorry," Ao gasps, only to break off into a muffled scream when a burning hand closes around his ankle and wrenches his left leg off at the knee. He flails, kicking out, but Shikaku's weight pins him down. He's powerless, his Byakugan gone and its fluids smeared between his cheek and the floor. "I—"

Kussaku begins to ease his arm slowly out of joint. Ao groans and clutches at his shoulder to no avail. He can't save something he doesn't have.

"Ao-dono...?"

There are footsteps around him, their shadows moving on the floor. "No! Don't—" Kussaku tugs hard and his left arm detaches like the limb of a puppet. White light bursts beneath his eyelids as Ao slams his head against the floor, writhing in agony.

"Ao-dono, _please_."

There's someone. Someone else. Ao scrambles away now that Kussaku has taken his arm whole, like a gecko that has left its tail in the cat's mouth. His back hits the corner and he pulls up his good leg, holding onto it tight. He won't let them take it.

"It's me, Katasuke. Do you remember? I'm your doctor."

Big glasses. Square jaw. Brown hair.

Ao doesn't remember, but he's glad that the doctor stays a distance away.

"It's okay. Take your time."

Ao wipes at the blood on his face and it comes back clear as water. He stares at his hand, not understanding.

"Here."

A white handkerchief appears on the floor beside him. The sight of it reminds him of something— it is somehow terribly important to get this liquid off his face, but Ao isn't sure why.

He takes the handkerchief cautiously and dries his face, pressing carefully around the bandages plastered over his right eye-socket.

"Do you need painkillers, Ao-dono?"

He glances down in surprise when the question registers. "No," he says, his voice barely a whisper. His left leg is still gone below the knee, but it doesn't hurt anymore. Not even his arm hurts, although it's strangely numb. He feels as if his insides have been pulled out together with his missing limbs, like a bee that had lost everything along with its sting.

"That's good," the doctor continues, still kind, still smiling. "Too many painkillers aren't good for you, but if you're hurting, tell me, alright?"

The name Katasuke is seeping back slowly, together with memories of his previous hallucinations, all of them mortifying. Ao almost wishes that he doesn't remember, not when each patchy memory replays in excruciating detail. Shame rises up in him all over again, even as he tries to convince himself there is nothing to be ashamed of. This too shall pass - all this guilt and pain - eventually. Katasuke may have more confidence in Ao than Ao has for himself, but...

Ao has to believe. He _must._

He closes his eyes.

Breathes.

It's hard to find his voice again, but somehow, he manages it. "Can you help me back to bed, sensei?"

"Certainly."

A warm hand reaches out, and it takes him all of his remaining energy to reach out and take it.


End file.
